


From Nyon With Love

by vosian_nightmare



Series: no where, posthaste [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Loneliness, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, We All Know the One, its not dark really, just a sad boi thinkin about sad things, listen this isn't happy, more melancholic, past trauma, possibly but im tagging it to be safe, will probably edit more later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24566248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vosian_nightmare/pseuds/vosian_nightmare
Summary: Rodimus would often just sit on the hull of the ship until the cold vacuum of space became too much for his systems to handle, coming back inside just before his systems froze.During that time he’ll stare into the distance, into the stars, and think of home.-or rodimus finds himself lost
Series: no where, posthaste [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1188916
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	From Nyon With Love

**Author's Note:**

> enter the projection zone; aka the place where i shove all my negative emotions onto our boy roddy

Primus, Rodimus loved his crew.

The old him would scoff and tell him to stop being such a sap. And the _older_ him, the one from _before,_ the one that rode through the streets of Nyon with little regard for anything outside dodging the enforcers’ patrols, would tell him just how much of a weakness it is to have loyalties outside of himself. Outside his city and his people.

But he’s come a long way. Megatron would use deep, meaningful words (probably in the form of a poem, the repressed nerd). Optimus would...probably just clap him on the shoulder with a nod. Looking back on it, Optimus wasn’t always the best with emotions. Hell of a public speaker, but when it comes to having a _tête-a-tête_? Becoming one with one’s emotions?

Yeah, maybe not the best. 

Is it the matrix? Maybe if you carry it for a long time it pulls a 180 and you lose your ability to talk reasonably to people. And the ability to interact with people. And the ability to be rational in general. 

It's gotten to a point that Rodimus is pretty sure that even _Ratchet’_ wasn't on speaking terms with the guy. 

In his defense, though, Ratchet’s got _other_ things on his mind. 

Ratchet and Drift were meant for each other. Drift was Rodimus’ best friend. He and Drift had a thing when they were under Kup’s command, but they broke it off after a while. It was mutual, Rodimus knows that, but sometimes he misses being close to someone like that, with someone he could _trust_. 

But Drift has a conjux now and Rodimus couldn’t be more happy for them. Couldn’t be more happy to be Drift’s amica. 

Couldn’t be more happy that couples all over the ship are getting together to live the rest of their days as a couple. 

He has his crew, that’s his responsibility and that’s what he needs to focus on. In a strange new universe, his crew needs him. He’s needed. A part of him says that that should be enough.

* * *

Every so often the ship would get roped into some adventure helping out another ship or planet or whatever and things would be okay, if only for a little while. 

The imminent threat of death and danger would hang over them and Rodimus would be able to think about the mission at hand, leaving behind everything else. All the thoughts that crowd his head.

But the times between would be filled with this, just, _crushing loneliness_ he couldn't seem to shake. He was on a ship with over 300 mechs but for some reason he still feels alone, like he has no one to rely on anymore. If he had anyone at all to begin with. 

Sometimes, on the bad days, Rodimus would sit on the hull of the ship until the deep cold of space became too much for his systems to handle, coming back inside just before his systems froze. 

During that time he’ll stare into the distance, into the stars, and think of home.

* * *

The ‘cons they picked up were...odd, to say the least. Rodimus has, at this point, gotten used to having Megatron on board, so having generic ‘cons as crew members ( _trusted_ crew members at that) thankfully wasn’t that much of a stretch.

Fulcrum was a technician, and a good one at that from what Rodimus has heard. And the few times they’ve talked showed Rodimus that the mech was, well, a coward when it came to most things (though he’d heard through stories from the others that he can hold his own). But asking if the mech wanted to be classified as a non-combatant was met with incredulous stares. The ‘cons had no such thing as non-combatants; some of their medics were known to be as skilled on the battlefield as they were in the medbay. 

Like Spinister, a walking (towering) contradiction. A mind to rival Riptide but a skilled surgeon, one First Aid often schedules to be on shift with him. Though First Aid has his reasons, ones he gave to Krok when he confronted First Aid, thinking the medic didn’t trust Spinister and was hovering over his shoulder, watching his every move.

(“That’s not the case.” He said. Krok frowned. 

“Then what is?” 

First Aid then went on a several minute tangent on skills and personalities and how well each of them work together that supposedly left Krok, and anyone else that was in the medbay at the time, with a headache.)

Crankcase was placed on the pilot roster almost immediately and made a name for himself as one of the few to call if they got into a firefight or just needed an ace pilot in general. Misfire and Swerve run _Swerve’s_ together, the mechs seemingly trying to out-talk each other. 

Krok was something else, and also the one Rodimus dislikes the most. 

(A part of him, the same part that says he should be happy just to be needed, says he hates him because he sees a part of himself in Krok.)

Krok was, at his core, a leader. He had his crew and would do anything for them, even commandeer a shuttle in case any of them were threatened. Plans that Rodimus knows about by accident, but won't say anything about and definitely won’t stop. (They’re respected members of the crew, but if they feel unsafe it’s within their rights to leave. Rodimus tries not to be hurt.) 

At first, there was a rift between them. Mistrust on both sides, paired with the two of them being so similar in just about all the wrong ways, led to a tension that filled any room the two were in together. 

A tension that seemed to bleed away randomly a few months into their foray in the new universe. It was after a battle against a race that wanted to capture the crew for some reason Rodimus doesn’t remember. Several crew members were captured, mostly consisting of non-combatants and generally less-threatening bots, and only some made it back. Rodimus was part of the group that brought the survivors back and saw what the aliens did to them. It was no surprise that he ended up at _Swerve’s_ , who stayed open for those that needed a stiff drink. Mechs like Rodimus. 

And like Krok, apparently. He sat down across from Rodimus and swirled his drink. Neither talked for a while, but eventually Krok thanked him. It took a second for Rodimus, who had probably one too many, to realise what Krok was talking about. Fulcrum was one of the ones taken and one of the ones that made it back. Rodimus went to say something, the words in his throat, but Krok was already gone. 

* * *

The stars were lovely, he thinks sometimes. 

Rodimus didn’t see equations like Percy, or civilizations to learn about and trade with like Thunderclash. He doesn't see shapes or stories like Chromedome and Rewind.

And despite his sense of religion he kept with him since he left home, he doesn’t see evidence of a higher power. 

He sees stars. Stars that changed wherever he went, but at the same time never changed. No matter where he goes, to him the skies will always look the same as they did back home. 

A traditionally comforting thought turned sour, like ghosts of sparks following him, haunting him. Taunting him by throwing his worst failure in his face. It hurt.

He doesn’t allow himself to look away

* * *

Rodimus, over the years, had gained quite a few allies, from the rebels of Nyon to the mechs on the _Lost Light,_ but none of them ever equated to his relationship with Drift. 

His best friend, his _amica_. The one bot that Rodimus truly _trusts_ , not just with his life but with his thoughts as well. 

The one bot that can read him well enough to know when his mind starts slipping into darker waters. 

  
  
  


Drift finds him out on the hull. It’s been a little over a year since the jump into the new universe, and the first time they've one of these nights since. 

**::The stars are lovely, aren’t they?::** Drift sends over comms. Rodimus is confused at first, but then he remembers no air, no noise. 

**::Yeah::** is all he sends back. Drift sits next to him. The two sit in silence for a while. 

**::What kind of night is it?::** Blunt, like always. Rodimus chuckles to himself. 

**::Nyon.::** he says honestly and it's all he needs to say. Drift knows the story, and how Rodimus’ trauma surrounding it manifests itself in his seldom-used, almost ironic outlier ability. An outlier ability that Rodimus snuffs out using the vacuum of space. Fire can’t ignite without oxygen and guess what space doesn’t have?

It’s unhealthy, and it kind of hurts, but it’s better than having a drained tank, he thinks. It’s easier to explain. 

But Drift doesn't say anything. This is routine at this point, the two of them having gone through nights like this since they were friends. Neither have healthy coping mechanisms and they both know it. So instead they just sit together, and let each other know that they aren't alone, not truly. 

Rodimus has his friends, his allies, his crew. And he has the ghosts he carries with him.


End file.
